


Mirrors and Braids

by Ammocharis



Series: Saga of the Avvar-Daughter [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amputation, Avvar, Avvar Culture and Customs, Avvar Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Avvar Pantheon, Culture Shock, F/M, Gen, Injury Recovery, Limb loss, Physical Disability, Sky Burial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammocharis/pseuds/Ammocharis
Summary: When the Inquisitor, Vatna of Two Falcon Hold, loses her arm to the Anchor, she insists that the remains should not be thrown into an Andrastian pyre but rather given to the messengers of the Lady of the Skies in a ritualistic air burial, as is the tradition of her people.“Listen. Don't let them burn it," she implored, unwittingly digging her nails into his neck. “My arm. Don’t let them burn it.”"I won't," he assured her.
Relationships: Avvar/Avvar (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age)/Original Character(s), Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Saga of the Avvar-Daughter [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972486
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Fire and Ice

_ She's alive _ \- a wave of relief washed through him. Silently, she had promised she’d survive and he believed the calm yet firm look in her eyes. She would do everything to keep an oath, whether it was spoken out loud or not. Still, the moment she crossed a mirror, a knot tied around his heart, and only after he saw her breathing did the tightness in his chest unravel.

He kneeled by Vatna and took a quick sweep of the situation. Her left arm didn’t look good, he’d be able to tell as much even if he had never stepped one foot into a healer’s hut. It resembled a limb taken by a severe case of frostbite. The flesh turned black as the night sky. Small fragments of her skin started flaking off, like pieces of ash carried by a gust of wind. He’d seen how harsh Hakkon’s breath can be on the travellers who don’t shield themselves from the cold properly, losing their noses, ears, or even legs and arms as a result, but the Lord of Winter wasn’t the one who claimed Vatna’s arm.

At least her hand didn’t glow anymore.

Himnar was sitting next to her, his beak by her shoulder, and though Eir couldn’t comprehend the threads of magic as Vatna could, it was easy to guess that the hold-beast was infusing her body with the strength needed to endure the injury.

“Vatna! What happened?” Cassandra cried out. 

"Solas… destroyed the Anchor,” Vatna breathed out, her voice hoarse. “But the arm… has to go too."

“Fenhedis,” the Vint mage cursed. “That prick just left you in this state?”

“Amputation out in the field isn’t the best way to go about this business, but it can be done, Boss,” Iron Bull said.

Cole remained unusually quiet.

With a groan, Vatna pushed herself away from the rock she was leaning against.

“No, not here.” She shook her head but it seemed to make her dizzy because she blinked a few times in disorientation.

“Yes, it’s best we take you back to the Winter Palace,” Cassandra agreed.

Vatna bent her legs, obviously trying to get up on her own, but Eir put his hand on her shoulder to keep her sitting.

"Brace yourself," he warned. "I'm going to hoist you up."

She grit her teeth. "I... can... walk..." 

"Always stubborn as a ram, aren't you?" He didn’t let her move an inch further. “It’s a wonder you haven’t grown horns yet.”

Before she could protest again, he took her right hand and put it on the back of his neck, urging her to grab on. Thank the gods, she complied. Then, he slid one arm underneath her knees, and the other below her shoulders. Vatna’s withered hand was resting on her chest.

Eir stood up slowly, careful not to aggravate her injury in any way.

To Eir’s surprise, the hold-beast relocated onto his shoulder instead of soaring up into the sky to guide them. A strange sensation rushed through him, as if his lungs held more air and his heart grew bigger.

“It’s a long way back, I can change you when we reach that elven temple,” Iron Bull offered.

“I’ll manage,” Eir replied. Cassandra glanced at him with concern.

“We should hurry,” Dorian reminded them needlessly. 

The group began retracing their path to the nearest eluvian that could lead them back to the Palace. Vatna’s breathing became slower, less laborious, but it could either be a good or a bad sign. He hoped it was the hold-beast’s work.

“Listen,” Vatna said out of the blue, speaking in Avvar, not in Common. He caught a glimpse of her intense stare but he had to focus on the path in front of him. Droplets of sweat were running down her pale face. He could feel her muscles tense. "Don't let them burn it," she implored, unwittingly digging her nails into his neck. “My arm. Don’t let them burn it.”

"I won't," he assured her.

She became less strained, knowing that he understood her well. She didn’t want the Lowlanders to deal with her severed arm in their own manner. They’d most likely toss it into the fire, as it was their tradition to dispose of remains through flames.

Instead, the Avvar asked the Lady’s messengers to take their body, as much of it as the birds can carry away. It wasn’t common to receive final rites while one was still alive, but it happened every so often. Warriors would lose their limbs in battle, tribesmen would be deprived of their body parts that were irreversibly corrupted by disease, like frostbite or gangrene.

“Don’t let them burn it,” she whispered for the third time, but as soon as the words left her mouth, her eyelids fluttered like wings of a bird that tired itself from flying against strong winds. As she slipped into unconsciousness, her right arm lost its grip on the back of his neck.


	2. Mirrors and Braids

She never got used to mirrors. The images staining a smooth crystal pane were too clear, too sharp, too… real. Whenever she stepped in front of a mirror, she couldn’t shake off the idea that someone had made a perfect copy of her, down to the smallest details, and trapped it inside this contraption of glass and metal. She grew up beside ponds and lakes, where all reflections were faint and fickle. Her water-dwelling counterpart couldn’t convince anyone that she was something more than a washed-out effigy. She would go away with as little as a gentle movement of the hand, sending ripples through the surface as she fled. Her twin living inside mirrors wasn’t so easily scared. She would have to be banished through an act of violence that might leave both of them bleeding. 

Vatna had no desire to destroy anything, and even if she had, she was too tired. Still, she didn’t want to look at her strange sibling for even one short breath.

A silly thought appeared in her head, that maybe the other Vatna would have fared better on this quest. Perhaps her head would be clearer, her blade sharper, and her heart stronger. What if for her, this whole ordeal could be as simple as flicking the wrist to throw away a piece of rubbish?

Or maybe she would shatter as easily as the glass behind which she was lurking.

Vatna approached the table and snatched her hairbrush, like a thief stealing someone’s purse. The one who was mimicking her managed to glimpse only a part of the right forearm, and copied each motion flawlessly.  _ So it would be her left arm,  _ Vatna mused, unable to take her mind away from what her reflection could become if they were separated.

_ We would both be crippled. _

She retreated to the other side of the room, far from the edge of the mirror. She sat on the bed cross-legged and began detangling her hair. Each stroke was slow and deliberate. She brushed all sections thrice, just to drag out the process. A question lingered: what to do next? Without her left hand, she couldn’t braid her hair properly. The previous evening, she tried making the simplest braid but the locks would slip away and the result looked like a complete mess. Eventually, she just gave up, untied everything, and went to sleep. The last time she let her hair loose was the Summer Solstice before she left the Mountains. It seemed like it happened ages ago, in another life, to Vatna whose reflection wasn’t as firm and steady.

This morning, she didn’t want to give up so easily. She divided her hair with her fingers into three parts, to make three tight braids as she often did. The lines turned out uneven, she didn’t have to look into the mirror to know that. With an irritated huff, she pulled all the strands back together and brushed them again. Next, she made an attempt to create the parting in the middle.  _ Two braids will have to do _ . Normally, she would secure her locks into a knitted plait, keeping close to the scalp so that everything would stay in place as she fought the neverending waves of enemies. But without the help of her left hand, it was impossible to replicate that style. Instead, she grasped one section of her hair, on the right side, gathering it just below her ear. Then, she split it into three strands and put the first one in her mouth, let the second one hang down, and threw the third one over her shoulder.

It wasn’t the most convenient nor the fastest way to arrange one’s locks, and it definitely wasn’t the prettiest, not that it mattered. Still, she had to braid her own hair. She wasn’t a child anymore. Her mother wasn’t there, waiting with a comb to make Vatna look presentable in front of Lowlanders.

Her eyes started to sting. 

She just wanted everything to be back to normal.

She continued working on the braid, trying to keep the tension even as it gained length, but the battle she was fighting couldn’t be won without any losses. Once she reached the end, she picked up a dark blue ribbon she had unearthed from her bags earlier. It was a gift that didn’t see much use as she travelled all across Thedas.

Her fingers were trembling as she wrapped the ribbon around the braid. She couldn’t tie it right, she just couldn’t.

_ How am I supposed to tie a knot without two hands? _

She remembered that she had seen home only twice during those long years spent with the Inquisition. Each time, the visit lasted no longer than a week. She didn’t even have a chance to apologize to her sister properly. It was so difficult to start talking to Hirka again, let alone say sorry, if she had to leave the next day for gods know how long.

There was one thing that was easy. When she asked her sister if she needed help with braiding her hair before the feast, Hirka made no objections. The girl just shrugged, handed the comb to Vatna, and sat down in the chair as she always would. Her hair grew out so long since she had last seen it. Her locks turned an even brighter shade of red. Or maybe Vatna simply forgot the intensity of Hirka’s hair colour that could be matched only by her temper.

She wondered how long and bright it would be now. What if Hirka decided to cut it? Perhaps she also bought some hair dye from merchants and Vatna wouldn’t recognize her at first glance.

Rambling on the door interrupted both her memories and efforts.

“Nissa, I said I’ll be ready in a moment,” she shouted, though her voice came out weak, thanks to the constricting throat.

Of course, it wasn’t the elven maid who was rapping on the door. Nissa would knock no more than twice or thrice, sometimes so delicately that Vatna wouldn’t hear her. When the noise arose the second time, she stood up and tugged at the ribbon. It came loose in less than a heartbeat.

_ Useless.  _ She clenched her fist around the fabric.

“Come in,” she said to whoever was waiting at the doorstep. She had a pretty good idea of who would be so persistent about bothering her. “What do you want?” she asked when Eir stepped inside.

“I wanted to see–” he opened his mouth. His eyes veered to the left. Towards her missing arm.

“There’s nothing to look at,” she interrupted. “Now leave, I have to get ready.” She turned around, picked up the brush, and sat down on the bed. One braid would have to be enough. Maybe she’d manage to pin it up somehow.

“You’ll be late. Lowlanders started gathering in the hall.”

“Who cares? They can wait, no one’s going to die from that.” She looked over her shoulder, hoping that her eyes weren’t red. She tried to steel her gaze but suspected it would end in nothing more than another failure.

“I don’t know, some of them are rather old.” A corner of his lip shot up for a brief moment.

She wished she could laugh at the joke. Instead, the lump reappeared in her throat, causing her breath to become shallow.

“Just leave,” she whispered and looked away. She was very glad she didn’t take the seat in front of the mirror. Otherwise, it would be nigh impossible to contain the tears. As if it wasn’t exhausting already.

“It looks like you need some help with the hair,” he pointed out. She could hear him taking a step forward.

“I’ll do it myself,” she replied and started detangling the messed-up braid. She needed some practice, that’s all.

He took a few more steps. “Any reason why I can’t do it for you?”

“You have no sisters. And men braid their hair differently.” She should’ve kept quiet. Maybe the tears wouldn’t start flowing then.

“I had a mother,” he said. A Dreamer like her, she remembered. There was a reason so many of their kind died young.  _ Mortals who can walk the dreams had already lived through one life.  _ Maybe she fulfilled the purpose for which she was turned around on the way to the place where hearts don’t ache.

She put down the brush and covered her eyes with her palm. One hand wasn’t enough, even for a task as simple as hiding one’s face.

Eir didn’t try to stop her from crying. He simply took the brush from where she left it and picked up the work that she began. The strokes were gentle, which made her cry even more. He must’ve had done the same thing for his mother many times before she passed away.  _ Before she went to sleep and never woke up. _

“I want to go home,” Vatna uttered in between one ragged breath and the next.

“Whenever you wish,” he promised.


	3. Sky Burial

There weren’t any proper mountains in this part of Orlais but he managed to find a hill suitable for the final rites. They left just before the dawn to reach it in time. The path uphill was easy to travel, as the slope climbed gently towards the sky. Still, Vatna breathed with increasing effort, yet Eir knew that she wouldn’t stop until they arrived at the summit. She kept her eyes fixed on the Lady’s domain.

Blood-kin and rope-bound of the deceased - or the wounded - should lead the procession. He was neither, but since her family was far away, he’d carry the dead flesh and bone in their stead. A song should be on his lips, and yet they marched in silence interrupted only by whispers of late summer breeze. The woman seemed not to notice the lack of hymns.

Though Vatna had become close with some Lowlanders, especially Cass, she didn’t invite any of them to the ritual. Even Cole, despite his nature, was told to stay behind. For a moment, Eir thought she’d order him to go away as well, that she’d perform the ceremony only with the hold-beast by her side. However, the look in her eyes said otherwise

Now that he was walking next to her, he wondered if she remembered that she had him as company.

Once they reached the hilltop, she paused mid-step, as if frozen in place by Hakkon’s breath. Her vacant gaze suggested that she was speaking to Himnar, so he waited until she finished. He spent this time studying the strands of her hair wavering in the gentle wind. Yesterday, before she addressed the Lowlanders, she let him braid it. This morning, she was wearing her hair loose.

A flock of ravens observed them from the branches, with great curiosity in their black, beady eyes. They weren’t used to offerings of flesh brought to them willingly. The black-feathered beasts scurried away when Vatna approached the cliff near the trees they were sitting on.

All birds could carry messages from the Lady, no matter if they hatched in the Highlands or the Lowlands.

Vatna gripped her staff - the Avvar-Mother’s staff - tightly in her hand. She inscribed a sigil on the rock, infusing it with magic. Then, she nodded at Eir to come forward.

He placed down the bundle he was carrying and slowly unwrapped the cloth, revealing the remains of her arm. She stared at it without a word for what seemed like eternity. In the meantime, the birds returned, now with a falcon among their numbers.

“Children of the Lady of the Skies,” she recited, her voice hoarse. “Carry this flesh skyward.”

Then, she turned away, as if she was in a hurry. He followed her to the other side of the hill, where they could disappear from the ravens’ view behind a thicket. Soon, they heard a flutter of many wings.

“Do you want to go back?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head.  _ No, not yet,  _ he understood from this gesture. She wanted to wait a little before returning to Halamshiral.

She placed the staff aside and sat down on the grass. He took a rest next to her.

“I can’t sing,” she whispered. “I know all the songs I ought to sing when someone’s flesh is offered to the Lady’s messengers. But I can’t.”

“I can’t sing them either. It’s alright.”

She pressed the back of her hand to her eyes, wiping the tears that collected in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s alright,” he repeated and touched her wrist. He brought her fingers to his lips and laid a kiss upon her knuckles. “You’re the bravest person under this sky.”


End file.
